


This Is How I Will Protect You

by militantblackbabe



Series: Where The Salt Line Ends (Gallavich Hunter Verse) [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/militantblackbabe/pseuds/militantblackbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian almost loses Mickey for good thanks to some piece-of-shit water demon and an overenthusiastic detective in Missouri. They barely make it out of there together. When they do, Ian decides it's time for a change. </p>
<p>(Set after 3x12. Supernatural crossover set in an alternate universe where the boys become hunters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is How I Will Protect You

In St. Louis they hit a run of bad luck. Mickey is in the wrong place at the wrong time, right at the end of a job they’re doing chasing down a particularly nasty son of a bitch, and Ian almost thinks that’s it – that Mickey’s been pinched for a string of murders he didn’t commit and he’ll never see him again. That this life they’ve managed to build together, however fucked up, is now over. 

Mickey only gets out of that one through sheer luck (and the ineptitude of small town law enforcement), though Mickey claims he had a plan all along. Ian doesn’t buy it, not for a fucking minute. He speaks very little and doesn’t stop driving until they get to Wisconsin, where the first thing he does is leave Mickey alone in their motel room with strict orders not to even think about fucking going anywhere. He goes to the CVS they passed earlier on the main road, feeling out-of-place and exposed in the harsh florescent lighting. He buys what he needs and gets back to their room around twenty minutes later. Mickey looks up at him when he walks in, sprawled on the bed with a can of beer and a ratty issue of Playboy. Ian doesn’t know where the fuck that came from, but he doesn’t give it any thought. He throws the CVS bag onto the table and digs into his duffel until he finds an old t-shirt that’s even more fucked up than his other ones. He throws it at Mickey and it hits him square in the face.

“Put this on,” Ian says, ignoring Mickey’s protests and already heading into the bathroom. He slams a hand against the wall nearest the door, switching the lights on.

“The fuck for?”

“Just do it.” 

Ian starts making room in the bathroom, making sure they have enough space, that the toilet seat isn’t too horribly disgusting for Mickey to sit on. Mickey finally walks into the room, wearing the ratty t-shirt. He looks like he’s going to bolt right out of the state when he sees the box of hair dye sitting on the sink, the girl on the cover sporting a platinum blonde bob and smiling impishly out at them. 

Ian grabs Mickey’s arm before he can go anywhere, and it only takes a little bit of wrestling and yelling to get him to plant it on the downturned toilet seat. He sits there complaining the entire time that Ian runs the product through his hair. He complains and scowls when Ian is holding his head in the tub, washing it all out. He complains when Ian rubs a rough, threadbare towel over his head until his hair is more or less dry, and he complains as Ian takes out the scissors and trims it all up until Mickey’s hair is almost as short as his. 

He complains, but he sits his ass there the entire time and doesn’t even try to get up, so Ian thinks Mickey must know how fucking close he came to the electric chair, all because of the twistedness of some old Nordic creature called a Nøkken that they managed to take out but whose mess they couldn’t exactly cover all the way up.  


When they’re done, Mickey runs his fingers through his hair, baring his teeth in something most closely related to a scowl in the spotty bathroom mirror. 

“It’s kinda badass,” he says at last, and a slow grin spreads across his face. He turns back around and leans against the sink, looking at Ian. “Not bad, Gallagher.”

Ian ignores what could be an invitation of sorts, coming from Mickey and judging by the way he’s holding himself right now, pointedly loose and open to Ian. He just nods. He does not say how he used to cut Lip and Carl and Liam’s hair all the time. He does not say ‘see, now you look nothing at all like the man who was on his way to death row, and if you look nothing like him then I can hide you from them forever.’ Instead, he just puts the scissors away and throws Mickey a broom. He tells him to get to sweeping, he’s going out for a smoke and some air, and don’t even think about fucking going anywhere, not even downstairs for some ice – if you want some ice then that’s just too fucking bad, you better be here when I get back to this room. 

Mickey looks like he wants to fight but he must see something in Ian’s face that Ian isn’t managing to hide because he just throws him a scowl devoid of any real heat and starts swinging the broom around in really exaggerated sweeping motions. Ian turns and heads for the door. It feels like a countdown until he gets outside to the van, where he can grip the steering wheel and not hide the fact that he feels like he’s about to break into a million fucking pieces. He makes it to the van and sits in the front seat, gripping the steering wheel for dear life and trying to breathe deeply. Sometimes every step, every breath, feels like he’s trying to hold his shoulders up against the weight of the kind of knowledge that could kill him –that he came so fucking close to losing Mickey, just like he lost everyone else. How close he’d come to being truly alone since the fire. 

He allows himself to let go of one hoarse sob that feels like it hurts his chest and claws at his throat on its way out. When his vision starts to blur he blinks away the tears and goes back inside.

Mickey is using the broom to do some kind of bullshit martial arts moves when Ian walks in. When he notices Ian he immediately jumps into a more neutral, less embarrassing sweeping position.

“Fuck you,” Mickey says before Ian even opens his mouth to speak. He can hear the sounds of Zeppelin IV wafting out of tinny speakers – it’s coming from the nightstand, where his crappy iPhone has been dug out of his bag and propped up against a bible. 

Ian feels like maybe he wants to smile – he can feel something warm and good tugging in his stomach – but it doesn’t make it to his face. Instead, he walks over to the CVS bag on the table and takes out the glasses. Mickey makes the connection immediately and he looks at Ian like he’s crazy.

“Fuck no,” Mickey says. “You’re not gonna have me out here looking like some fucking nerd.”

Ian ignores him and looks for the scissors so he can cut off the tag.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of a long series of fics I'm working on set in this universe. I'd love to know what you think!


End file.
